A Promise Under the Moonlight
by Onigiriareyummy
Summary: They were an apprentice mage and a Templar-in-training.They never should have met.But Alistair made a promise under the moonlit sky to rescue his princess from the Tower.It was broken. One-shot.


A Promise Under the Moonlight

Prologue: The Promise

"Do I really get to go with you Irving!? Do I really!?" The First Enchanter smiled down at the bouncing child, patting her on her dark haired-head. He couldn't blame her for her excitement, the poor thing had been brought to the Circle when she was but a toddler, she remembered nothing of the outside world, the very sky was nothing but a myth to her. So when he was told that he would be heading to look over the newest batch of Templars and give his suggestion on who should be assigned to the Circle, Irving had arranged it so that little Niamh could accompany him. Greagoir had resisted the idea at first but, given the destination, he begrudgingly gave his permission

"Yes, yes. We leave in the morning, so pack your things and get a good night's sleep." She swiftly hugged Irving, she was so tiny that her head barely came up to his waist.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" She ran over to Greagoir, who had been sulking in the corner and hugged him too. "Thank you!!!!!" The Templar looked vaguely uncomfortable, but even he could not suppress a grin at her rambunctiousness. "I'm going to go get ready right now!" She scampered into the hall and turned towards the morose looking boy waiting outside for her."Jowan! Come on! I'm going to need you to braid my hair before we go to sleep!" The little elf child grabbed Jowan by the hand and dragged him away before even allowing him to answer.

Irving chuckled softly. Poor Jowan, since he had come to join their ranks a few years ago little Niamh had him under her thumb. The little girl had a tendency to...dominate the other apprentices. But she did it so cheerfully that they were more than willing to follow her lead. If she continued to prove as apt at her studies as she was and retained her leadership ability, she could be First Enchanter one day. The Knight-Commander cleared his throat as Irving shut the door to his office.

"I still have...reservations when it comes to taking such an apprentice out of the Tower." The mage sighed, they had been through this over and over again. By the Maker, did the man never tire of the sound of his own voice?

"Well, if you want to tell her that she can no longer go, please be my guest." Greagoir said nothing, he just grumbled quietly. Though the steely Templar would never admit to it, he had quite the soft spot for Niamh. They all did.

The girl had been left at the Chantry in Lothering five years ago when she had been but two years old. A letter pinned to her shirt identified her as the daughter of an elven maid and explained that the child had shown magical abilities by lighting the pantaloons of the Arl's daughter on fire.

Niamh quickly charmed the Templars charged with bringing her to the Circle(one even teared up as they said goodbye) and anyone who made contact with her quickly followed. Even the Tranquil seemed to show a preference for her.

Irving would truly be glad of her company on this trip. At the very least it would not be boring.

* * *

The trip had been long and uneventful, but Niamh had never had so much fun before. The outside world was just so big, bright, and full of color. She had done her best to be good and just enjoy the scenery, but she was energetic ,even for a seven year old. Her constant chittering and questions could be bothersome, but she was so sweet and genuine in her awe that none would deny her. By the second day of their journey she had even managed to convince one of the Templars in Irving's escort that she should be allowed to ride with him on his horse. That same Templar now held her standing in place as she squirmed, they had finally reached their destination and she so dreadfully wished to explore.

As it became clear that she was not to be let go as she wished, Niamh's attention turned to Irving, who was chatting with a sour-looking elderly woman. The little elf immediately decided that she did not like her, not one bit.

Irving turned and nodded at the Templar who finally released her shoulders. The mage beckoned his little charge to his side as the ugly old lady turned and went back towards the grand doorway she had come from. He turned her towards a wall adjacent the grand fortress's kitchen, the door into it was left slightly ajar, giving her a tantalizing view of green.

"Now, while I take care of some business you may play over there, I'm told that there is quite a lovely garden near the kitchen." She pouted a bit and Irving chuckled. "And that is also where the cows are kept when they milk them...but if that's no good..." Niamh's face lit up. Cows! She loved cows! She had been allowed to pet one on the way here and found she quite adored the large, gentle creatures. Without another word she bolted away. Cows!

_Meanwhile..._

Maker, it seemed as if he could do nothing right. If he allowed himself to get beaten up, he should show more backbone, if he fought back, he should fight with his words not with his fists, if he used his words, he ended up banished to the kitchen. He just could not win. Now, to top it all off he had just been ran out of said kitchen for merely remarking that he would rather kiss the hairy ass of an abomination than scrub one more pot. It just wasn't fair.

Now he was given the even more unpleasant job of hunting slugs in the garden. Alistair _hated_ slugs, they were so...so...slimy! And those little thingies on top of their heads that flailed about. What were those? Their eyes? He shuddered just thinking about it.

A sound snapped him from his mental rampage against the many indignities of his life, something very...large was rustling behind the blueberry bushes on the far side of the garden. He gulped, he really hoped it was just a bunny. Alistair approached cautiously, he could almost see what was causing such a ruckus. Yes, that was what it would be, a little fluffy bunny rabbit, not some rabid fox, or bear, or beaver, or Maker knows what else. Just a sweet, scared ,fluffy little...

"Got you!!!" A small dark haired person popped out of the bushes. Alistair screamed, she had more than startled him, she had put the fear of the Maker himself into him. He got ahold of himself when he noticed the look the little girl was giving him. "Oh my. Did I scare you?" The pointy-eared pixie grinned broadly at him and began to giggle wildly. The boy felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Alistair cleared his throat and looked away.

"You? How could a scrawny little thing like you scare _me_? I'm a Templar you know! We aren't scared of anything! It is you who should be scared. For you are the dirty little urchin who..." He looked back at the young girl and noticed with disdain that she had completely ignored him, her big sparkly blue eyes were entranced by some object cupped in her hands. Alistair's curiosity was piqued and he circled around her to see just what she had."Say, what have you got..." the elven girl opened her hands a bit wider and shoved whatever it was she was holding into his face "...there?". He didn't recognize it for exactly three seconds, until the squishy cylindrical creature's eye stalks waved at him. "EEEK!!!" The would-be templar threw himself backwards. "Why in the Maker's name are you holding a slug!?" The little girl's face lit up brightly.

"Tis truly a slug? Oh! How wonderful! I have read about slugs! " She brought the icky, slimy beastie up to her face to examine it more closely. " To hear Jowan speak of you, I would think that you would be something hideous and frightening. But you, my little friend, I find quite lovely!" Alistair was throughly perplexed, how could anyone think a _slug_ was lovely? Why would anyone be talking to one? Furthermore, how could she have never seen one before?

As the little girl kneeled down to replace the creature on the leaf she had pulled it off of, Alistair examined her a bit. Well, she was an elf that much was certain, her long, dark black hair was plaited into a single thick braid, allowing him a clear view of her pointed ears. She also must not have gotten into the sun that much, for her skin was translucently pale, like fresh snow. But it was the robe that finally gave her away, he recognized it as the one apprentice mages wore. Well that would explain why she did not recognize (and loathe) slugs. Perhaps she _really _had never seen one before.

Alistair knew he should go report her presence to someone right away, but he had never _really_ met a mage before. She also didn't seem that dangerous, he had a feeling that a stiff breeze could knock her over, much less him, if she went out of control. What would really be the harm in letting her roam free? He nodded to himself, deciding that he should appoint himself her escort on the grounds. You know, just in case...she went berserk or something. It had nothing to do with using her immunity to the true Blight of the Maker (slugs) to his advantage...nothing at all.

"Hey you! Little girl." The girl in question stood up, looking quite peeved at the fact he had called her away from her very important discussion with her new friend. "You're a mage aren't you?" She scoffed at him and straightened herself to her full (diminutive) height, defiantly placing her hands on her hips, and gave him a glare that he was sure would chide even the Reverend Mother.

"My name is _not_ 'little girl'. I am Niamh Surana! How dare you call me _just _a mage! What you see before you is the most beautiful, elegant, wise, and powerful Archmage in all of Ferelden!" Oh this was how she was going to play it was she? Alistair decided to go along with her little game, swooping into a full, courtly bow.

"Forgive me, Lady Surana. I am Alistair, the Knight-Commander of all Templars." Niamh gave him a scrutinizing once-over.

"Aren't you a little short to be a Templar?" Alistair bristled at the jab to his physique.

"Hey! I'm a foot taller than you! Aren't _you_ a little short for an Archmage? " She stuck her small pink tongue out at him.

"Height has no standing with mages! No matter our size we're powerful!" Niamh marched over to the older blond boy and grabbed his hand."Now, I was told there were cows somewhere around here." Cows? Really? Well, given she had been so enamored with a slug not a moment before, why not cows as well? At least they were fuzzy and could be considered cute." Take me to them immediately!" Bossy little thing. Alistair had half a mind to tell her to shove off. But when she demanded that he carry her to wherever they were hiding 'her' cows ,he found himself kneeling down as she hopped onto his back

He just couldn't win.

* * *

Irving and Niamh stayed at the Chantry for nearly a week. Though he had first complained about his forced servitude to the little wretch, Alistair soon found that he sorely missed her company when his duties directed that he be elsewhere. Yes, she was bossy. Yes, she was arrogant. Yes, she enjoyed teasing him to no end. But she was also funny, brave, and sharp as a whip. The best part of it was that she treated him no differently than anyone else.

Alistair was the bastard of a noble, and everyone else made a point to remind him of that fact on a daily basis. It was torture and had forced him to live a rather lonely existence. Though Niamh ordered him about, she was also kind and friendly to him. Quite a stark change from the forced politeness and open hostility he was used to.

After their first meeting he and Niamh developed a routine. After his morning lessons were done they would meet in the kitchen garden, relocate the slug population (Niamh stubbornly refused to dispatch the vile creatures), and then go on clandestine adventures in and around the grounds for a few blissful hours until he had to return for his afternoon and evening lessons.

Alistair had never been so happy. Sure, their 'adventures' had mostly consisted of a daily trip to the milking barn (to visit 'her' cows) or the chicken coop, but he wouldn't have traded them for anything in the world. Niamh's inquisitiveness was endearing, as was her genuine awe at the knowledge Alistair had of such mundane things such as where eggs came from( "A chicken, of course.") , where chickens came from ("An egg, of course."), how the sky managed to stay up so high ("Umm...the Maker wills it to be so?"), and other such things.

That's not to say that the little mage hadn't ever managed to irk him. Oh, no. She could be infuriating. Niamh was brave, and he admired that, but she all too often( as in once) crossed the line between being brave and being foolish. The girl seemed to have no fear for her own personal safety at all! He could have forgiven her if she had merely done something stupid like poke a poisonous snake with a stick, but not for doing something so_ momentously _stupid as she had.

The day before last, Alistair had been taking her to the horse stables for a change of pace. Unfortunately, in order to not be detected by any of the Templars or Chantry sisters roaming about, they had to take a route that went perilously close to the Mabari kennels. Normally that wouldn't have bothered him, all of the Templar recruits were introduced to the great war hounds and were of no danger to him, but Niamh was a stranger to them and they would attack her on sight or smell. As they walked behind the kennels, the dogs began to bark at the unfamiliar smell of the elven child behind him, Niamh jumped a little at the unfamiliar noise and spoke with only the slightest quiver of fear in her voice.

"What is that!?" Alistair turned and patted her on the arm, feeling quite proud of the fact that, for once, she was the one who had been frightened.

"It's just the Mabari. You know? The great war dogs of Ferelden?" He turned and continued to walk towards the stables. "They have a very sensitive sense of smell and they're fiercely territorial. Since you don't live here and they don't know you it'd be best if we just kept moving." A sinister idea formed in Alistair's almost teenaged mind, and he froze in his tracks, lowering his voice a couple octaves to give his next words an air of spookiness."Not to mention they just _love_ to eat little girls...just...like..." He swiftly turned around and growled, prepared to pounce Niamh."YOU! Rawr!" There was no one behind him.

"Niamh?" He looked from side to side, there was no trace of her."Niamh? Niamh!" Alistair's heart began to beat rapidly as panic flooded through his mind. There was no way she could have...a little girl's scream pierced him right through the heart. She could have! He ran towards the door into the kennel, praying with all his might that he was not too late. If she had been hurt he never could forgive himself..

His hands were shaking as he opened the door, an unwanted image of his one and only friend lying bloodied and motionless in the great jaws of a Mabari had burned itself into his mind, but what he saw was not at all what he had been expecting. Niamh was on the ground, well that much he _had _anticipated, and she _was_ being held down by one of the very large dogs, but said dog was merely licking her face wildly, his stubby little tail wagging a million miles a minute.

As the elf ordered the very, very large dog off of her between fits of laughter, Alistair was struck with two emotions: Crippling relief and red-hot anger. How could she have been _so_ stupid!? Did she have no sense at _all_!? The dog cowered away from Alistair as he marched towards the girl on the ground, his rage filling the air with some unnamed dread. He roughly picked her up and planted her standing in the earth in front of him. Niamh's delicate, pretty face was covered with slobber and she was_ still _laughing. Alistair kneeled on the ground, bringing him face to face with her. He shook her violently and yelled at her, something he had never done before.

"You stupid, stupid little girl!!! How could you have done something like that!? Have you no idea how you worried me!? That thing could have killed you!" She looked as if she were about to say something but Alistair continued on, "It's over twice your size! What would I have done if you had been hurt? Or killed?" He felt tears running down his face, not wanting her to see him like that he stood and turned away from her. He wiped his face with his sleeve and began to walk away, briefly pausing when Niamh grabbed his shirt. It sounded as if he had made her cry, but he stubbornly refused to look at her, lest his resolve to be angry with her wavered.

"Please Alistair, don't be mad. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm sorry." An urge to turn and give her a hug almost overwhelmed him, but he beat it down. She needed to learn to not do such reckless things. She was a child and needed to be punished( that's what he had convinced himself of at least), so he shrugged her off.

"Leave me be. The sooner they lock you back up in that tower, the better." Ouch. Even though he was angry, he knew that had been a very cruel thing to say. In the days afterwards he regretted saying such a thing, but, as he was then, he felt that she justly deserved it. After a moment of stunned silence Niamh released him and he stalked away, still fuming.

If Alistair had looked back then, his resolve would have surely faltered. But he did not, and was thus spared from seeing that utter devastation his careless words had caused. Niamh stood staring after him for quite a while, tears silently streaming down her face. The mabari came to sit next to her, and, after it had licked her face a couple times and whined its distress, she hugged the great beast around the neck, taking some solace in the comforting warmth it provided and cried for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Alistair had avoided her since then, partially out of lingering anger, but mostly out of shame, how could he ever manage to look at her again after saying something that...that..._horrible_. After he had met Niamh, he had managed to misbehave _just_ enough in order to be sent to the kitchens every day, but since their falling out he had dedicated himself to his studies and had been on his best behavior. It was nearly unheard of for him to be well-behaved two whole days in a row. Well, nearly two days. He was once again banished to the kitchens for tipping a scalding-hot bowl of soup onto the lap of an older boy when he made reference to the younger of the Chantry's guests as a 'knife-eared brat' and that he 'looked forward to putting her in her place' once he was a Templar. Alistair could have talked his way out of it if he had left things with the soup, but no, he had to go and sucker punch the lad right in his ugly face.

So here he was, scrubbing pots and angrily muttering to himself. The cooks had already left for the night, but he was not allowed to leave and go to bed until after all the pots had been cleaned, polished, and put away. It was quite late when he finished, but _something_ drew him into the kitchen's garden before he headed to the small dormitory and the uncomfortable bed that awaited him. The night air had quite the chill to it, and he shivered. It was just so...silent. If it had been earlier in the day he would never had heard the muffled sound of crying over the usual buzz of activity.

As he approached the blueberry bushes that the sound originated from, he already knew what he would find. But it still hit him like a knife in the heart when he saw Niamh, illuminated by the bright light of the full moon, sitting on the cold ground, crying. Any trace of anger was banished at the pitiful sight. Alistair plucked her from the dirt and hugged her tightly, she was so light it took no effort at all to hold her, and brushed a tear from her cheek.

"What's wrong? Did someone hurt you?" She shook her head. "Is it...is it what I said the other day? I truly didn't mean it! I'm very sorry that I said something so mean. Please stop crying!" Niamh shook her head again, took a deep breath, and began to speak at last.

"No...no...it's not that at all." She hiccuped and Alistair pushed back the hair that had escaped her braid back behind her ears. "I...Irving said we are to leave tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I don't want to go back!" Niamh buried her head in his neck and clung to his shirt as her tears began to run anew. "I want to stay here with you! And the cows! And the chickens! And Fluffy!" Fluffy? He assumed she was referring to the Mabari from the other day( his real name was Bloodbath by the way), though, knowing her, it could have been the _slug_ for Maker's sake."I don't want to never see you again!" The little girl fell into a fit of hiccuping sobs.

Alistair stroked her head and tried to calm the crying child, but he could find no comforting words, for he was just as distraught as Niamh. He had known she would leave and go back to the Tower eventually, he just had never thought it would have been so soon. Why couldn't she stay for another week or...three? It just was not fair. Niamh looked up at him and sniffed.

"I don't want to be a stupid mage anymore!" One could almost see the lightbulb above Alistair's head as his brain finally found a solution to the problem he found himself in( it probably should have thought of it sooner, but Alistair's brain liked to take long naps sometimes). The boy grinned, cupped Niamh's damp cheek and turned her face up to his.

"Don't worry. We'll defiantly see one another again." Her skeptical look drove him to explain further, "Well, you're a mage, right?" She nodded miserably. "Well, I'm training to be a Templar remember? And what do Templars do..." Niamh's face lit up, the familiar mischievous sparkle coming back to her eyes.

"They watch over the mages!" Not entirely true, but she was a child and that was the simplification of the Templar's duty in her optimistic young mind. Alistair knew better than that, but who was he to rain on her parade?

A very serious look worked its way onto her little tear-stained face. The next words she spoke carried a very great sense of gravity that was quite disconcerting when coming from a seven year old.

"You must promise me. Promise me that you'll come to the Circle when you're grown-up and a real Templar and that you'll stay with me forever. For if you don't I shall, never, ever, EVER, forgive you." Alistair gulped, that sounded more like a threat than a request, but he was swayed by her as she gently placed both of her hands on the sides of his face and looked deeply into his eyes, as he looked into hers he saw something that he had never noticed before. Loneliness. She really would miss him terribly, she would be lonely without him, she... _needed_ him.

Was this what it felt like to be wanted?

Without wasting another moment, Alistair hugged the small girl so tightly that he was afraid he might break her, but she held onto him just as tightly. Though he had been vowing that he would not cry, he found he could no longer help himself.

"I promise! I'll come for you. When I'm a grown-up, and a _real _Templar, I'll come and stay with you. Forever."

* * *

Time has a funny way with things. It can create, warp, or destroy.

In Alistair's case it created a new fear; the fear of what mages _could_ become and what he must do to them. Seeing just one young mage, no older than he, be twisted into the possessed thrall of a demon was more than enough.

It warped a childhood promise into a curse; a curse of inevitable failure. How could he be expected to watch Niamh turn into some unspeakable horror during her Harrowing and then be forced to strike her down? It was best to avoid her at all costs.

Finally, time was able to destroy any desire he may have possessed to become a Templar. The thought of hunting down mages at the Chantry's whim sickened him. For he knew already that any apostate he was duty-driven to execute would have her face.

So when the opportunity arose to join the Grey Wardens, Alistair leapt at the chance. He would be fighting darkspawn, soulless abominations of the Maker, created to punish man for the arrogance and sin of the Magi of the Tevinter Imperium. It was all he could have wished for.

Truth be told, no matter how he tried he could never forget the promise he had made that one moonlit night, that seemed, a lifetime ago. In quiet moments, he would often think of the little girl who had managed to bring a bit of light to his otherwise dark, miserable existence in the Chantry, and wonder what became of her.

Was she all right?

Was she happy?

Did she ever think of him?

Did she even remember him?

He tried to imagine the tiny mage all grown-up and found that he could not. She would always be a little girl in his mind. Now and forever.

But the time for fanciful imaginings and wistful reminiscing was long since past. A Blight was coming to Ferelden. The King's armies were mustering at Ostagar to combat the invading menace, and, as always, the Grey Wardens would be there.

In war, victory.

In peace, vigilance.

In death, sacrifice.

* * *

To Irving, time seemed to be moving at a breakneck pace. Had it really been nearly two decades since he and Niamh had returned to the Tower?

He had, at first, regretted taking little Niamh with him on his visit to the abbey-fortress. Once they had returned to the Tower, the girl became a ghost of her former self.

She neglected her lessons and avoided the other apprentices, instead choosing to go sit on bench for hours on end at the main door. This had made the Templars uneasy, but she caused no trouble, and was thus left alone. Finally, after over a week of this strange new behavior, Irving inquired as to what was wrong. To this day he remembered the solemn look that came across her face. But she surprised him by demonstrating that she was not longing for the outside world, as he had feared, by posing a question to him:

"How long does it take for one to grow up?" Irving blinked, that had not been what he had been expecting.

"Well, that depends. If it is one as young as you, then it will be quite a long time." Niamh crinkled her nose at him, a warning that was not what she wanted to hear.

"Well...how long is a 'long time' ? One week? Two?" Irving chuckled and patted her on the head.

"I would say, in your case, maybe ten years." The child's jaw dropped.

"Ten YEARS!?" She began to pace, puffing her cheeks in anger. "But I don't know if I can sit and wait for that long." Irving had no idea what she could be waiting for. He held his questions for now, deciding instead to seize this opportunity to redirect her attention and dedication to something more fruitful.

"Well, perhaps instead of just sitting here and waiting you could pass the time with studying?" The small elf made a noise of disgust, but he carried on anyway. "It seems that while you've been here sulking, Jowan and Keili have managed to get top marks in class..." Niamh gasped with horror and the First Enchanter knew he had achieved victory.

"Those two!? All Keili does is cry, and I can't let Jowan beat me! I have to be the best mage in the world! Being number three just will not do!" Niamh forgot her task quickly ,as children will, and ran towards the library. Irving smiled to himself, it was so easy to redirect her energy when he put his mind to it.

He tried to ask her later what it was she was waiting for, but she stubbornly refused to answer. After she still refused to speak of it almost a year later, Irving let the subject drop. Though she never went to wait at the door again, sometimes he would catch her pausing to stare at it longingly. And Niamh always rushed to meet the newest Templars, even now, over fifteen years later, she still made a point to meet them personally. Each and every time.

As Niamh grew and matured, he was proud to see her so driven in her studies. The girl had a natural aptitude for fire and spirit magic. Oddly appropriate, he thought. For she never lost the spirited nature that had served her so well as a child, and after the visit to the Chantry a new fire had been lit within her to be the very best in everything. It had cost her most of her friends, but she seemed strangely content with Jowan being her only confidant.

For a brief moment in time he had feared his star pupil had fallen in love with the older, less promising apprentice. At least, there were whisperings that such a thing had occurred. It eventually proved to be nothing but a rumor, thank the Maker. Jowan may have been in love with her, he couldn't fault the lad really, but a very angry Niamh dispelled the constant gossip by very loudly proclaiming that such a union could never, would never exist during the middle of dinner (from the top of a table, after she had singed the robes of the girl who had very foolishly suggested such a thing).

No one made that mistake again.

That's not to say that the pretty elf girl hadn't been the source of romantic gossip since, but most were wise enough to make sure that no word of it got back to her. There were new murmurings in the hall that he found had some substance to them. Namely, that one of the Templars new to the Circle had an...unwise interest in the First Enchanter's protégé. Irving foolishly brought the matter to Greagoir, who promptly assigned the young man to be the one who would strike Niamh down this day if she were to fail her Harrowing.

Irving pitied the poor man, Cullen was his name, if he had known Greagoir would have done something so mean-spirited he would have waited to breach the matter at a later date. But perhaps Greagoir, like he, had faith in Niamh's strength and felt that Cullen and the other Templars' presence was nothing but a formality. Yes, for now he'd choose to believe that.

For he had to have faith. For it would be Niamh's will, and her will alone, that would see her through this trial. He had to believe that it would be enough.

* * *

Niamh's heart was pounding as they led her into the Harrowing chamber but it was not fear that caused her heart to beat so furiously, it was excitement. The years of pain, toil, and training were all for this, all for this one day. She had no doubt that she would succeed at the task set before her now; she had defeated every challenge set before her in the past, why should this be any different?

The memories of her childhood were far behind her but now, of all times, her thoughts drifted to the young man that had been her companion during her one excursion out of the Tower. The memory of him had faded over the past sixteen years to little but the whispers of a kind voice, the fuzzy vision of a brightly smiling face, and the traces of a comforting touch.

She remembered something now, something that had been long since forgotten: A single promise to a sad little girl made under the gentle silver moonlight. The promise that he would come for her when they were older

Niamh's silvery eyes scanned the room. The faces here were all so familiar: Irving; her mentor and so much more, Greagoir; ever the watchman, but kind in his own way, and Cullen. Poor Cullen, the elf gave him a comforting smile as she glided past , she knew he had been the one chosen to strike her down if things were to go badly. Hopefully he would not be needed.

Niamh knew not why she kept looking at all of the faces around her, expecting the face of a boy she barely remembered to pop out at her. But she did. _He_ had promised that he would come. He should be here by now, he was older than her and must have completed his training long since by now. What could have happened to him?

As she approached Irving and the strangely glowing chalice he held, a quiver of fear wormed its way into her heart. Not of her potential demise, but the fear of the promise being fulfilled. What if he were to come tomorrow and she was not there to greet him? It was a silly, childish thing to worry about, but still she was struck with a sadness so profound at the mere thought of such a happening that Niamh felt as if she would be crushed under the weight of it all.

Irving beckoned the apprentice to him and she walked toward him, her step not nearly as light as it had been not moments before.

"Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you."

And so, it begins. For better or for worse.

I wish you were here...

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Hi everyone! Thanks for reading the first installment of my very first DA:O fic. I would just like to tell the readers of my ME2 fic not to worry, I'll still be updating Who Believes in Curses Anyway on a regular basis along with this one.

I know I took quite a few creative liberties with this work: Surana having been at the Tower before Jowan and not technically from an Alienage, ect., ect. Well, now that I think about it, the whole premise is something that would most likely never really happen in the DA universe haha. I felt like writing cute/sad Alistair fluff! What else can I say?

A quick note about Surana and Alistair's ages at the beginning and end of this chapter:

Surana: Start- 7 End- 23

Alistair: Start- 12 End- 28

I don't know why, but I always got the impression that Alistair was at least a few years older than the Warden, just immature for his age. I know I probably messed up the whole time line thing but oh well.

I greatly encourage reviews! Please leave me one! The feedback from you all is the most rewarding thing to me, be it good, bad, or 'meh'.

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